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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506644">easily erased</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bebtea/pseuds/bebtea'>bebtea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>36 Questions (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Camille’s backstory, F/F, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Two Shot, Well duh, mentions of drug use, the am</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 03:28:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506644</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bebtea/pseuds/bebtea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Judith did see Camille the day she “died”.<br/>Mark saw her too, several months later. Or centuries before, depending on how you look at it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I can’t remember where I first saw the idea that the two Camilles are the same person but I adore it, credit to whoever that was!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In adulthood, Camille Dubois had always cut a put together, if not glamorous, figure, but the cracks were plain to see in her facade that day, her eyeliner smudged, her foundation too thick. Judith remembered her better with two frizzy plaits and skinned knees and plans far too big for her small frame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The park wasn’t her idea of a meeting place, but maybe now she understood the appeal. It was their spot of stolen moments, the first girl either of them ever kissed, an experiment in not-completely-straight. So she sat on the bench, smoking a menthol, sunglasses on, one step away from leather-jacketed. Playing at being a super spy, manic pixie dream girl, take your pick. Hopefully looking more like one of the former than someone coming down from a high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Camille sat next to her without saying hello or making eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judes, I’m scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Straight down to business, always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cam</span>
  <em>
    <span>ille</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she smirked, drawing out her oldest friend’s name like a cigarette, “you’re seriously getting in touch for the first time in five years to tell me that you can travel through time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I would make something like this up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, go on then. Prove it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what really happened with the boat in the bottle.” Now she’s the one smirking behind too-much makeup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judith froze. The world around her seemed to crumble, just a little. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What did you just say?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said, I know what happened with the ship in the bottle. Your father’s study, 2004. You think of it as the start of all of your fuck-ups.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two stared at each other for a long moment, Judith’s smile rapidly vanishing from her face. “What else do you know about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At this point, it’s better to ask what </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>I know.” There’s a little bit of cold triumph, cold malice in her voice. A lot of their relationship had been built on bitter little moments of victory like this, Judith realised as her stomach lurched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know about the house in Sidona. Your grades in high school. All the boys and girls you kissed behind my back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve... spied on my entire life.” Judith no longer looked cool and collected. She was trembling. “What the fuck, Camille!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would do the same thing in my place!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you would. You would, Judes. With a power like this, anyone would.” She reached out a steadying hand. Judith flinched away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re coming for me.” Camille suddenly sounded far more serious. She blinked, once, twice. “I’ve got a feeling. People know. There’s secret agents at my door all the time, I think I’m</span>
</p><p>
  <span>being followed and I can’t trust anyone and I don’t know what to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want me to do about it? My family pay their way out of… scrapes. We don’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> buy out federal agencies!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. Kids were shrieking over the swings a little way away. The afternoon sun burnt low and orange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The AM aren’t a joke, Judes,” she said, finally. “I know everything else in your life is a joke at this point, but… these people don’t mess around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything in my life is a joke, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve been watching.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” she begged, and hated it, but Judith was already getting up to walk away. “Please, please help me. I just need a few thousand dollars, a different identity, and I’ll disappear, and I’ll never bother you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could have just asked.” The hurt in her tone was palpable. Camille closed her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t have helped me unless it helped you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judith did not acknowledge that, but shrugged her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’ll ask my father to send someone over tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young lawyer who arrived from the Fords’ mansion was armed with chloroform. Camille fell asleep into the 1950s, and woke up in a glass box of a cell, an inescapable present.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She knows straight away that something is wrong. It’s Bath: she’s been here before, physically, Judith’s parents dragging them around Europe to see all the Roman architecture, but it’s not quite right. Her heart is pounding a little too fast and her skin feels itchy and hot. She remembers the time she tried ecstasy, getting anxious and trying to cool off in the icy night air on the deck of Judith’s father’s yacht. She thinks of the crash, and days and days of uninterrupted time travel afterwards. Maybe Wadsworth hadn’t been bullshitting about drug use and atypicals. Probably, she should have mentioned that she doesn’t do well with uppers. Probably, the scientists wouldn’t have cared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mark?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw him just a few minutes ago, dishevelled and pasty in orange scrubs and buckled in a chair with at least four or five restraints, his fingernails bitten down to the quick. Here, though, he’s more put together. A black top hat, a long-tailed coat, breeches, his eyes less glazed, far less stricken. More like a twenty-four year old should look. The name Byron really does suit him, not that she’d use it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I had a dream, which was not all a dream. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe that had been playing on her mind, threw them into the 1800s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway. The betrayal every Tier Five atypical wears like a deadweight isn't so heavy on him here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She realises, then, that he’s staring down at her. That she’s lying in the grass, gazing up at the sky. A picture-perfect day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s dizzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Camille?” he asks, far away, afraid. “Everything all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can’t speak. The world feels like it’s falling away from her, despite someone holding her hand. She thinks about Judith, playing in the rain. Making up dance routines. Holding her hair back as she threw up absinthe. Treating all the boys in their grade with derision. She remembers being a small child swung in the air by her parents, and thinking they were perfect, and learning that they weren’t, and managing to love them anyway. Her first trip into the past - the doctors put it down to lucid dreaming. Cheating her way through her finals with a word in the professor’s ear about his affair, and the triumph she felt intertwined with guilt. Judith. Always back to her, and the mess they were both making of their lives. Didn’t get a chance to make any of those messes right. And Judith, who sent her to Tier Five to rot, to die. Judith, who broke her heart. Judith, who stole the sky away. But she couldn’t steal this sky; her lies couldn’t unpin a fixed point in time; she couldn’t close off the window in Camille’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Camille… just… hold on, I’ll try and pull us out, but you need to keep breathing, okay? I can’t - fuck, I’ve never fucking tried to do this before and I know, I know your power is feeling really faint but you need to… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Camille</span>
  </em>
  <span>, don’t let go, don’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart stops beating, and just like that, she’s gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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